June Moon

help along. I’ve got a girlfriend from Schenectady. Fred Is that so? Edna She’s in New York now, or at least she was the last time I heard of her. Working at Saks’. Grace Crowell. Fred I used to know a Mildred Crowell, but her name wasn’t Grace. Edna Refusing to give in. This was Grace. I haven’t seen her for years, and I never did know her very well. Fred Mildred Crowell’s brother was quite a billiard player. Three cushions. Eddie, his name was. Edna That’s my name, too. Laughs. Of course it isn’t my real name. It’s just my nickname. My real name’s Edna. Fred Oh! He comes back to vital matters. Eddie Crowell used to pretty near live on the billiard table. Then finally his health broke down and he went out West somewheres. I couldn’t tell you now if he’s dead or alive. Edna It’s funny how we lose track of people. Some of the girls I used to go with, they still live there yet, but I never look any of them up, except Gertie Hutton. I guess it’s terrible of me not to, because if a person’s got good friends, they ought to keep them. Fred I certainly got good ones. They showed that last night, at the banquet. He has finally managed to bring that up. Edna Were you at a banquet? Fred I had to be. It was me they give it for. I mean, I was the guest of honor. Edna How exciting! Fred It was a farewell testimonial on account of me going to New York. And then this afternoon ten or eleven of them come down to the station, and Ernie Butler had a hangover and bought me this seat in the parlor car; he said it would be a disgrace for me to ride in the day coach with this new bag. He indicates a shining yellow suitcase at his side. Edna It’s a beautiful bag! Fred They give it to me at the banquet. It’s got my initials. See? F. M. S. Frederick M. Stevens. Edna What’s the M for? Fred Martin. Edna I like a man to have a middle name. Girls don’t usually have them. I’m just plain Edna. Fred Pretty daring, for him. I wouldn’t say “plain.” Edna You know how to make pretty speeches. Fred I bet you’re used to them. Edna There’s another one. I’m not so used to them that I don’t like to hear them, especially from people whom I think they’re sincere. Fred I don’t say things unless I mean them. Edna I’m glad of that. Fred Talking about speeches, you ought to heard the speech Carl Williams, made when he give me this bag. At the banquet, I mean. I guess I blushed, the things he said about me. A lot more than I deserve. Edna I bet they were sorry to see you go. You look like the kind of a man men would like. And girls, too. Fred I don’t go around much with girls. Edna I don’t go much with men, either. Fred Neither do I. A pause; that subject’s cleaned up. It’s comfortable in here, ain’t it? Like being home. I never been in a parlor car before. Edna My brother always insists on me riding in it. He says the day coach is generally dirty, for one thing⁠—and another thing, the men that ride in the day coach are the kind that try and make up to pretty girls. That sounds like I was throwing a bouquet at myself, but I’m just repeating what Dick said. That’s my brother’s name, Dick. I guess a brother always thinks their sister is good-looking. Fred I believe in a man sticking up for their sister, or any woman. I got no use for a man that don’t respect woman’s hood. Where would a man be if it wasn’t for their mothers and sisters and wives? Edna Some men haven’t got wives. Fred I haven’t got one myself⁠—yet. I ain’t been lucky enough to meet a woman who would be a good pal as well as a sweetheart. I want my wife to be like mother used to be. Edna I love to have a man love their mother. Fred I wished mine was still here. Like Carl Williams said in his speech last night⁠—if she was still here, maybe she would be a little proud of me. Edna I’ll bet she would. Fred He made quite a speech, all right. He said the boys expected me to make Irving Berlin jealous. I said I didn’t want to make nobody jealous, but I wanted to make my friends proud. I said my only regret in going to New York was on account of leaving so many good friends behind, and as soon as my songs begun to sell up in the hundred thousands, and my dreams came true, I would invite them all down to visit me on Broadway and show them the sights. Edna A bit too eagerly. Is that what you are? A songwriter? Fred Nods. Not the music part; just the words. Lyrics, they’re called. Edna It must be wonderful to have a gift like that. Fred That’s what Benny Davis called it⁠—a gift. I guess you’ve heard of him⁠—he’s turned out a hundred smash hits. Edna I guess I must have. Fred He wrote, “Oh, How I Miss You Tonight!” It was a song about how he missed his mother⁠—he called her his “Old Pal.” Edna That’s sweet! Fred Well, he happened to be playing in Schenectady in vaudeville, and I happened to meet him and I happened to show him some of my lyrics. And he said a man like I with the songwriting gift was a sucker not to go to New York, because that’s where they have the Mecca for a man if you got the songwriting gift. So he give me a letter to the Friars’ Club, asking them to give me a two weeks’ card, they call it. The Friars’ Club is where they have the Mecca for songwriters. And he give me a letter of introduction to Paul